It’s a cruel world out there when you can’t tinker with the exact shade of inlay on a chip you probably don’t need but somehow must have. It’s not like the universe is already laughing at me, surrounded by towers of poker chips that I treat with more care than actual currency. Without the chip builder, there’s no stopping the madness.
Now how am I supposed to design my dream poker chips, sample by sample, like some deranged artist painting the Sistine Chapel one tiny disc at a time? I can already see myself refreshing the forum like some desperate gambler at the slot machine, hoping the utility comes back online before I accidentally buy yet another 1,000-piece set. How can I go on without acquiring another set to add to my ever-growing mountain of clay.
But who am I kidding? As if a minor inconvenience like this will save me from my fate. It’s like trying to control an addiction by simply closing your eyes—I’m just going to keep buying them anyway.